


La petite princesse

by Greenie (haithuong313)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, M/M, POV First Person, Pegging, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haithuong313/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: Bernadetta and Sylvain return to Garreg Mach, hand in hand after five long years of war. They are together this time.This is in Bernie's POV first-person, Azure Moon. A story inside the fic is written base on Le petit prince.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	La petite princesse

We come back.

It has been five years since Garreg Mach fell. The academy of our young days is covered with layers of dust and rubbles, sinking languidly into oblivion. But it doesn’t matter, isn’t it? What we were trying to hold onto and refuse to let go is not a block of exquisite architecture or thousand-year relics, but simply _promises_. Promises that even when the war is raging, even when terrible tragedies in life shaped you and me into different _things_ , we would still somedays find each other in this place of forgotten history. It sounds like a stupid dream, but it was what kept me fighting even when the battlefield is no place for a good-for-nothing like me, even when I lost all hopes and my body moves on its own because everything else is broken. In those moments, I just thought that I want to see those sad, shimmering amber eyes once more; you were the miraculous flame that guides me through black nights.

Funny is it, many of us Garreg Mach’s graduates didn’t survive this cruel new world while we, the _weaklings_ and the _unwanted_ can still meet up like this and talk about our childhood promises. That’s what my father always said, _“Bernadetta, can’t you be useful for something?”_ _“Those stupid drawings and useless stories won’t give you the clothes you wear or the food you put in your mouth!” “Stop acting like a freak!”_. Bernadetta is not pretty enough to be married, Bernadetta is not strong nor smart enough to be an heir, Bernadetta does not _belong_ here or there. Bernie doesn’t care anymore; Bernie can create a world she belongs to. As long as I am given my own space and some peace of mind when I don’t have to cry about isolation and loneliness, there is simply no limit to the world I could create. A world full of mysteries, sadness, and so many unanswered questions, but it is a world where I could exist, a place where I am finally not an outsider.

The place where I met you.

That first time I saw you, I thought that you were unreal. You are like that “it is nice out here” Ferdinand or the _noble noble noble_ Gloucester boy… you are surrounded by friends; you are capable of fighting, you are funny, smart, _fit in_. You can’t be existing in my world, you know; this world is twirling with broken, crazy, no good kinds of stuff, stuff like Bernie. But no matter how many times I tell Mister Hedgehog the Almighty that you don’t belong, he stills insist that you do, because we always recognize our kin. And you keep coming back, with those _super-embarrassing-how-can-you-even-write-that_ pretty handwriting and scented paper. I think of one hundred and one reasons why it is not you who actually did that.

> _“I write today to inform you that I enjoyed the story tremendously.”_

Is… is that how you always talk to girls? Keep flirting with them and showering them with praises! But… why are you flirting with Bernie? Guys that I met when Father was still trying for a chance with marriage always say that I am weird and insufferable. That can’t be the case then…?

> _“_ _I laughed and cried as the heroine overcome many obstacles, growing stronger with each step”_

Is… Is that so? That wasn’t something I was thinking while writing… I just wanted to be free; I want to exist for once without feeling like I am nothing. No one ever watches over me.

> _“_ _I have been reading a lot, but I rarely find something I could deeply connect with.”_

Connect, huh? Could a person like me, always in the shadow, afraid of humans, can really have a _connection_?

That day I screamed and ran away from you, but little did you know that I kept reading your letter a thousand times. While gripping the paper close to my pained chest. And cried like a newborn baby.

I learn to be close to you. Still utterly terribly scary, my brain keeps ringing up with a thousand reasons why I should not trust you, that this is a trap, and you would laugh in my face the next moment, telling me to fuck off, _ugly, useless, stupid, should-not-exist_ Bernadetta. But the more I am with you, it changes. Not that I can’t hear those voices anymore, it just turns into a different kind of fear.

I know about those medications you are taking in the morning before dragging your lifeless body out of bed. I know about those chronic pain you only show when you are sure that nobody sees. I know about those nights that you spend staring into the darkness and waiting, longing for it to come to claim you. I want to hug you really, really tight so you wouldn’t go. The “tomorrow” that you would no longer exist is now what I most dread.

⩫ The little princess and the red fox ⩫

🌻🦊🌻

The heroic princess has been running through mountains and deserts, through woods and seas, through time and space. Only when she finds the _Flower of tears_ could she return home. Her homeland is worlds and worlds away; these days, it is hard to remember where it actually is, or how it has been in the past. She remembered a place where roses bloomed, and she spent her childhood days playing hide and seeks with her friend. Nowadays, it is a vacant place riddled with monsters; the only thing left is sorrow and cruelty. Her only hope is to find the Flower of tears, which can fill the world with the incredible power of happiness.

The problem is she has never seen it. People keep speaking of it, but for her, it is only a myth. Maybe it was only a tale.

She ended up in a garden of roses, and it reminds her of home. She lays down and cries.

That is when she saw a couple of red ears.

“Hello.” Says the fox.

“Hi,” says the princess. She knows she should not interact with it; even on this planet of men, it is full of monsters. The fox though, it reminds her of a friend. It has been too long since she plays with a friend.

The fox waits a bit before jumping out of the bush, circling her.

“You are not from here.” He sniffs.

“How do you know?”

“People around here are hunters. They are strong, and they hunt me like I hunt chicken. You are not strong.”

“You don’t know that.” The heroic princess has been fighting with a lot of monsters, but people don’t usually believe her. Human doesn’t see monsters until they end up in their belly. People only see what they want to see.

“Who are you?” The princess then asks, “You are… pretty to look at.”

“I am a fox.” It says, then adds, “If you don’t hunt, then do you want to play with me? I have seen hunters play with their house dogs; they seem to be happy. It is like f-… hmmm, what is that?”

“Friends.” The princess fills in.

“Yeah, like that.”

“Believe me, I want to.” She responds, “But I still have many places to go. I need to find the Flower of tears.”

“Oh, you can’t find that!” the fox exclaims “Here people don’t go to places to find things, they sell it in stores. But they don’t sell that. It is something you have to make yourself.”

“Really?” this is the first time she has heard of this.

“You know, when people stay together for a long time, they would play together, laugh together, sing together. They become f-… friends. Then there would be times when a person leaves, and a person cries, then there will be flowers.”

“That… that makes sense.” The princess is sort of understand it now, why she has never been lucky with finding it. Then she lay down and sad again.

“Then I would never find it. No one would cry for me.” The princess sobs.

“I would.”

“Huh?”

“If we become friends, I would cry for you.”

⩫ To be continued ⩫

“AHHHH! You are reading my old writing AGAIN?!”

We have been, supposedly, friends for about five years, and you are still the same mischievous fox that loves to play with people’s minds. Every time you got permission to be in my room, you would find a new thing to read, mostly things that I tuck away in the longest time and mostly forgot about. I don’t understand what you find so fascinating, why are you so happy about it? They are all… stupid writing that I feel utterly shame just thinking about, but you are never out of praises, you are never out of place in your heart for my silly little worlds.

You are in a long-sleeves pajama, as am I in my oversized sleep dress. The first time you were welcomed to my room, it was after the “kitchen accidents”. Who knew that the infamous Gautier heir was actually nocturnal? And I was but a skittish kitchen thief that was scared of both the living and the dying. I thought that I committed a heinous crime. Frightened, I hid your body in my room. Turn out you were not a dead body; you were just a playful fox that is too mouthy.

We spent the whole night talking about the life in Empire, weekly operas in the Mittelfrank Opera House, about life in the north, your homeland, about Sreng cultures that house Gautier came from. In my whole life, I thought that I would never leave this room – my secret hideout, but being with you, I feel like I could travel around the whole world (in my mind, at least). You were sitting on the ground, and I was knitting on my bed, but when you felt asleep in the middle of the story, I laid down on the ground with you. I want to lay like this with you when we watch the northern stars, while our adventure cruise is drifting leisurely on peaceful waves. We could be adventurers, or pirates, pending our lives in beautiful journeys. Had we not born noble, had we not responsibilities for our house and our country, had we been in a different world. But now, knowing you, I understand that you will continue to fight, continue to protect people whichever world you are in. You would never be free, but that is your choice. So, maybe laying with you here, on the soft rug watching you sleep is enough.

“Are you mad at me, Bernie? Please, I know I’m wrong. Forgive me.”

Sometimes I hate that I could never get mad at you. From the moment I know that you always annoy people to seek their little attention or to deflect the question that you don’t want to answer, I could get mad no more. Smart, cunning Sylvie is so childish sometimes.

“You have been saying that all the time, but you never change! I figure you need to be taught a lesson.”

I use all my might to push you down the bed. Surprisingly, you go down. When I watch you on the training ground, you never go down. You always stand your ground on the battlefield too. Why are you so weak now? I see that your face brightens up red. 

I take out the “tool” I have been keeping a secret.

“You gotta be kidding me.” You look at the big strap with round eyes. That is the biggest I have ever seen of your eyes; they are beautiful like ambers.

“I-I will carry out the punishment of the uhm- notorious criminal Sylvain Jose Gautier. You can’t escape the judgment of King Bernadetta of the Holy Kingdom.”

“Oh, Seiros.” You roll your eyes.

I know you are drooling inside, though. Dirty little Sylvain, I know your secrets, as you know all of mine (maybe you think that you can hide, but that is your fatal mistake. I can be slow, but I am unstoppable). All are safe with me; you would be safe with me. Blood is rushing through my brain as if I took ten cups of coffee to stay awake writing.

“Whoa… you can really take the _whole thing_. I know that you are a slut, but you never cease to amaze me.”

You didn’t answer. Probably out of breath with the big fat thing inside. This is not our first time, but I didn’t know it is **_this_** good. We have to do this more often. I love it when your body suddenly jolts each time I pull all of it out and plunge in without a care. I love that you try to move along with my clumsy hard thrusts, your heart beating like melodies under my ears, your muscles taut and trembling slightly under my fingers. You become undone, your eyes unfocused.

“Oh- Ah! It’s- I can’t…” You start to cry. Did I do something wrong? Probably not, because your legs are tight around my waist.

“Tell, tell me what you want, _Sylvie_. I-I love you.”

“It’s too- too much… want to come.”

It seems like I hit the right spot then. I kiss you deeply like a reassurance, then focus my strength and give you a nice hard piston. Now you are crying and wailing, and this could be one of the only times that I use what I was taught in officer school: how to keep your bigger opponent in place. I hope that I could actually remember to do this on the battlefield instead of shooting frantically at people (it still works, though).

Now you are a sobbing mess. Mission accomplished.

“Do you like to make me cry?” You are trying to wipe your face, but I am trying to kiss you. Your body is still jolting without me even touching. So this is the aftershock.

“I am not _you_. But now. Maybe. A bit.”

“You are cruel as always, Bernie.”

“No, I am not. Except when you are a character in my story. Then it’s _character development_.”

⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

You are drinking hot cocoa, the thing I save for when you stay the night with me. I am back to sewing a handkerchief. I made so many of those that I couldn’t even use all of them, and you suggest I gift it to people. Yeah, of course, when I can actually get rid of my fear of the living. Which would be in like, a thousand more years.

You can keep laughing. I will get you a bigger strap next time, see if you can still make fun of me.

“You are the worst.”

“And you are the best when you are quiet.”

You pout. Seem like the lesson is learn then.

It doesn’t take much time until you are mouthy again.

“So… how does it end?”

“Huh?”

“The little princess and the red fox story. Would she ever find the Flower of Tear? If so, would she return home? What about the fox?”

“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t written it for the longest time. It was a bit childish.”

“It was a good story, though.”

Yeah, if you think so. Good or bad story, now I don’t care too much anymore. Because I know someone would be reading. I know it matters.

“You should continue with the Chronicle of Heroes epic. I know we are still at war, but I can feel that time is changing. Crests and relics are important now, but in the new world of peace, people would need other things. Things like what you are writing.”

You always think big, Sylvain. This has always been what I do to survive, to keep the shadow out of my mind. It is fortunate that because of it that I have a chance to meet you, to be with you.

“Well, I was thinking about the little princess and the red fox too.”

“Oh?”

“As the princess and the fox travel around the world, they share many memories and hardship, and in the end, they become inseparable friends. The fox can now cry for her, and the Flower of tear blooms beautifully.”

You nod. Our hands found each other.

“But the princess never returns to her planet. She finds home not in her birthplace, but in the place that the flower blooms. It is to be with her friend, the fox.”

And my place is to be with you, my _princess_.


End file.
